


Of Future Pasts and Past Futures

by thescarletwoman



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: 51st Century Time Agent Problems, Ianto Jones is obsessed with James Bond, Jack Harkness is an asshole, M/M, Trace Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescarletwoman/pseuds/thescarletwoman
Summary: Jack is used to his past coming back to haunt him. But whenhemakes an appearance, Jack never expected it to affect him so much.Takes place just following the novelTrace Memory, spoilers contained within. It started as a character study on Jack coupled with the fact that the ending felt incomplete to me -- and ended up taking on a life of its own. Overheard dialogue courtesy ofThunderball. Originally written for a fanfic100 prompt030. Death.





	Of Future Pasts and Past Futures

Jack Harkness remembered every former lover, regardless of age, sex, or species. He remembered every face he ever killed and every death he'd experienced in his approximate hundred years of life -- after this long, one stopped counting exact years. Each one had a place in the back of his mind, filed away neatly under its appropriate categories. Of everything, it was the deaths he wanted to forget the most. The gift of immortality had not taken away the agony that came from each death and subsequent resurrection. Yet, try as he might, he forgot nothing, it always remained on the periphery, the constant reminder of what he had lived through and what he would face for god knew how many years to come.

And if anyone ever said death was easy, he would be introducing them to the business end of his Webley.

Death was not easy. Death (at least, in Jack's experience) was painful -- pain followed closely by that cold, black void. It was the severity of each death that dictated how long he had to stay there, floating in nothingness, while his body repaired itself. No matter what happened to him, minutes, hours, or sometimes days later, he would awaken, feeling as if he had been raked over hot coals to rejoin the land of the living. But always, always did he remember the pain.

Standing at the edge of Cardiff Bay, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his greatcoat, he wondered why this had come back to haunt him. Jack stared out at the water, watching the concentric rings spread out from where the orb had landed, splashed, and was now quickly sinking beneath the surface. He had known in 1967 that Michael would make a jump to his future (well, now Jack's present) -- he hadn't known it would affect him so. That paradox had existed in 1967: the past Jack had met the Michael of Jack's future. Michael had known Jack, but not vice-versa. And while Jack-of-the-past had ached to know when he and Michael would first meet in Michael's time-line, he held his tongue. He knew he couldn't jeopardize things no matter how curiosity gnawed at him. Some things couldn't be screwed with and the number one thing was time.

It didn't matter if Jack had burned to ask -- to know things he couldn't -- learning was dangerous to the fabric of the universe. Then again, if he had asked, was it possible the Doctor would have come swooping in, stopping him before he screwed things up much farther? As much as Jack would have liked to see the man again (and get answers to a few questions) he knew he couldn't. Not even on his worst days as con man extraordinaire would he tamper with time in such a manner. Just as the first rule of Torchwood was "don't mess with the Rift", so the first rule of the Time Agency was "don't even think of screwing with time."

Jack wasn't sure how long he stood there, gazing out at the water, the cold waves splashing against the edge of the dock. His mind raced and the visions he saw were of the past, playing before his eyes like an old-time movie. A little less than half a century ago, warehouses had stood here; Hamilton's Sugar in this very spot. The air felt alive and Jack wondered briefly if he turned around, would he see the nine storey warehouse? Shrugging out of the greatcoat, Jack laid it across a nearby bench before standing toe to toe with the edge of the pier. One deep breath and Jack pushed off, jumping feet first into the icy water.

Cold enough to sting on impact, Jack let his body sink beneath the surface, staring up at the night sky, now obscured by the choppy waves. He held his breath, remembering the jump as if it was yesterday. Forty years ago he had taken that jump with Michael, holding the boy while he died, Jack's own end coming moments later. Feeling unconsciousness slipping in around the edges, Jack pushed up, flailing momentarily in the water before finally breaking through the surface just before he blacked out. He greedily gulped in air, treading water a good three metres away from the edge. After reorienting himself to the pier and land, Jack slowly swam towards the rusty ladder by the dock, teeth chattering in the cold water as his hands plowed through the waves.

Forty years he had kept Michael on the periphery, knowing that one day he would have to face his past, to meet a man he knew intimately and yet who he had never met. Here for only a few short hours, and now he was gone once more -- jumping from the Boardroom to lord knew where. Maybe this was the final leap to 1967. Maybe the moment Jack had slipped beneath the surface, Michael and his past-self were making the same fatal jump.

It was always possible, Jack knew. Time tended to have a funny way of working and a cruel sense of humour.

Perhaps it would have been easier if Jack had kept Michael's story to himself, but the look on Ianto's face told Jack that he owed his lover an explanation. He'd seen the pain in Ianto's eyes when he finished, the way he had softly asked 'so where does that leave us?'. While Jack's plentiful love-life was never secret, it was rare that he brought up stories in such great detail. And, more to the point, rarely were such stories told when the supporting cast was sleeping in the Boardroom, serving as a constant reminder of Jack's previous partners. The way Ianto had reached for him before Jack left the office spoke volumes; the manner in which he had grasped his hand briefly, holding on before releasing -- it was like Ianto was trying to hold onto something that wasn't his to hold. Jack knew he could have reassured Ianto, but the words weren't there and he had exited, going to Michael as Ianto suggested. Jack should have known it was a test: the offer to leave and comfort another when the proper response was to stay. Jack had left the office and failed the test completely.

Jack wasn't sure if that squeeze was Ianto's way of saying goodbye to _them_ , the last stand before retreating back into the once comfortable roles of boss and office boy. A squeeze and then Ianto had let Jack go. And Jack had left, most likely confirming every single one of Ianto's fears: other, former lovers were more tempting than the current one.

There had been no time to dwell on Ianto (or Michael for that matter) for soon after the fight had begun in earnest, ending once Michael jumped again, departing for unknown destinations. While the Vondrax sped across time and space to find Michael, Jack had left the Hub without a word to anyone -- not even Ianto. Carrying the damned orb that had started everything so many years ago, grunting under the weight of the object, he had packed it into the SUV, driving at a breakneck pace to Cardiff Bay. He knew what he was planning broke every rule in the Torchwood manual; he knew the orb should have been returned to Basement D-4, rather than brought here to Michael's final resting place. It seemed fitting to destroy it here, sending the orb to the same watery grave as the man whose life it had ruined.

Some rules were meant to be broken.

Not caring that his clothes were soaking wet, Jack shrugged into his greatcoat, doing up the buttons as he walked back the the waiting SUV. He was fairly certain there would be a lecture from Ianto, reminding him that, once again, one did not keep the SUV clean when one sat in wet clothes in the driver's seat. Eyes on the road, Jack drove at the speed limit (for once), knowing that if he drove the way he normally did, he'd end up killing someone. He wound through the streets of Cardiff, watching his path as he drove, rather than keeping an eye on the people he silently protected. Jack needed to lose himself, to try and reopen the filing cabinets, tucking Michael back inside where he had stayed buried for so long.

Sheer muscle memory got Jack and the SUV back to the car park in one piece, and without knowing how he came to be there, Jack found himself standing at the entrance of the Tourist Office, rather than using his preferred way of entry at the invisible lift.

Jack wasn't sure how long he stood outside, head resting against the door and listening to the muffled sound of James Bond coming from inside. Maybe he should let sleeping Weevils lie, go in the normal way and talk to Ianto tomorrow. Or avoid the situation all together, pretending Michael didn't exist and nothing awkward had happened between them.

As much as Jack would have liked to sweep things under the rug, Jack knew he couldn't. While Ianto could be so British in his need to repress, this wasn't something they could gloss over and pretend it never happened. Things needed to be set right. He owed Ianto that much, didn't he?

_My dear girl, don't flatter yourself. What I did this evening was for Queen and country. You don't think it gave me any pleasure, do you?_

Jack chuckled, shaking his head ever so slightly. Had the situation been any different, Jack would have asked if there was another reason Ianto liked watching films featuring the iconic secret agent man.

_But of course, I forgot your ego, Mr. Bond. James Bond, the one where he has to make love to a woman, and she starts to hear heavenly choirs singing. She repents, and turns to the side of right and virtue..._

Hell, Jack had heard those words before. Art imitating life. Jack wondered if, at some point, he had met Sir Ian Flemming.

He pushed open the door, slipped inside and locked the door behind. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, water dripping from his clothing onto the floor, Jack leaned back, watching Ianto with a small smile on his face.

"Picking up right where you left off?" Jack asked, chuckling softly.

"No," Ianto replied, his eyes glued to the tiny screen, bare feet propped up on the edge of the desk. "Mind where you stand. I just mopped yesterday."

Wincing ever so slightly at Ianto's tone of voice, Jack side-stepped onto the doormat and retook his previous stance. Only Ianto could make Jack move and suitably chastise him in only two sentences.

"So what have you moved onto?" Jack asked softly, feeling tension creeping into the small office space and knew all too well what (or, rather _who_ ) had caused it.

" _Thunderball_ ," Ianto replied, never once flicking his gaze towards Jack. "And I'd appreciate it if you zipped it, sir. I have a movie to watch."

Jack recoiled as if he had been slapped. It had been a small inside joke of theirs, even as their relationship progressed from something purely professional into a sexual one, that Ianto continually referred to Jack as 'sir'. Not all the time, mind, but often enough that it had become a term of endearment between them.

The intonation of the word this time, however, held none of the usual inflection or warmth. Stiffly formal, it was as if the past few months of repair between them had disintegrated in a flash.

"Are we back to the 'sir', again?" Jack asked, cocking his head to the side. "I thought we already had this discussion once. In an office if I remember correctly. Now, if we need to go back there, I highly suggest we make time for the copier--"

"Video, _sir_ ," Ianto replied, gesturing towards the screen and interrupting Jack. "I've asked you once before to keep your fetishes to yourself. So if you don't mind, I have other things I was doing. Before you ask," Ianto added quickly, "no, they don't involve you."

Once more, there was that _tone_ in Ianto's voice that clearly said he didn't want to talk about Michael or anything else and that Jack should bugger off down to his office to do whatever it was Jack did at his desk when he wasn't out saving the world. Unfortunately for Ianto, Jack didn't take cues, subtle or otherwise, that well. Stepping away from the mat, wet shoes squeaking on the tiled floor, Jack crossed to the other side of the Tourist Office and unplugged the telly directly from the wall jack. The office was plunged into a momentary silence before Ianto started ranting.

"Did you _really_ have to do that?" Ianto asked, poking the buttons of the remote, even though he knew it to be futile. "Or are you _honestly_ that much of a fucking child that you feel the need to throw a tantrum when you don't get your way? For a man over a hundred years old, you have the emotional maturity of a three year old. And that is being generous."

"You weren't listening to me."

"You were interrupting my film."

"Never usually complain about my 'interruptions'."

"You're not usually being an arse."

"I'm not being an--"

" _Jack_!" Ianto slammed his hands down on his thighs, effectively ending the banter between them. "Just _stop_. I'm tired and just... stop."

They stood for a moment, staring at each other across the divide created by the desk: Ianto glowering at Jack, Jack with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Jack counted each heartbeat (adding up to nearly a full minute, Jack had never realised just how long a minute could be) that passed between them in silence, waiting for Ianto to break. The thought that he should capitulate first never once entered Jack's mind. They may have been looking at one another, yet none of the usual heat passed between them. For a moment, Jack contemplated plugging the telly back in and beating a hasty retreat down to his office, but doing so would have constituted admitting defeat. Unfortunately for them both, Jack's pride would never allow such a thing and so they remained in a stalemate.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ianto finally said, flicking his gaze back to the silent television set, effectively ending the staring contest. "It happened. It's over. And I don't care."

" _Riiiiiiight_ ," Jack said, drawing the vowel out longer than absolutely necessary. His hands dropped to his sides, leaning casually against the desk. "Because a man who doesn't care about what happened today would be hiding out in the Tourist Office, indulging himself in James Bond and cold pizza from four hours ago."

Ianto sighed, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. Several times he opened his mouth, then snapped his lips together as if thinking better of saying what was on his mind. Jack looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say _something_.

"It doesn't matter," Ianto finally said, pitching his body forward to force the chair level once more. The sound echoed in the silent office, punctuating Ianto's statement, giving it an air of finality. "Over, done with. Now I'm going to finish watching my film and you can either stay or clear out, but plug the set back in before you leave."

Jack, however, didn't believe a word Ianto said and sure as hell wasn't going to be pushed aside so easily.

"For someone who doesn't care, you're certainly doing everything in your power to convince me that you don't care," Jack said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and fixing Ianto with a level glare.

"And for once in your life, stop looking for there to be a game in everything," Ianto shot back. "There's nothing to talk about because I _don't care_. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"'He that doth protest'..." Jack intoned, attempting to adopt a look of innocence and failing miserably.

"Fine!" Ianto growled, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Yes, it does bother me! There, are you happy now? You dragged it out of me. Congratulations, Jack. You got me to admit it. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Was that so hard?"

" _Cer i grafu*,_ " Ianto swore, narrowing his eyes in Jack's direction. "And no, I'm not translating. You've lived in Wales long enough. Not my fault if you haven't learned a phrase or two."

"I'm fairly certain I know what you said even without the translation."

"Good. Then, as I said five minutes ago, this conversation is over and I'm going home."

Jack figured it was prudent to not mention that Ianto was intending on going back to the film and not leaving the Hub completely. He was in enough trouble as it was without adding 'smart arse' to the current list of transgressions.

Ianto stood and Jack moved to block his path out from behind the desk. Ianto shifted to the left and Jack mirrored his movements becoming an impassible force. Ianto lifted his chin, adding a defiant tilt to his head, while his expression softened at the same time, eyes silently pleading to let him pass. This time Ianto attempted to slide to the right and once more Jack intercepted him. The argument took a silent turn, Ianto begging to be released and Jack's stance and expression saying that they were going to talk about this come hell or high water. Jack refused to be affected by the way Ianto wanted to avoid this talk, knowing that this was one of those times when Ianto couldn't sweep this aside.

'I'm British, we repress,' Ianto's countenance said. 'You never want to talk about feelings.'

'Humour me,' Jack silently responded, eyebrow lifting.

Reaching for Ianto's hand, Jack was surprised when Ianto gave into the show of affection without complaint. Lightly, Jack ran his thumb over Ianto's knuckles, noting the barest hint of a smile that threatened to tug at the corner of Ianto's mouth. Apparently all was not lost.

"Come," Jack tugged on Ianto's arm, "let's go out."

Ianto shook his head, pulling his hand from Jack's grip. "I'd rather not. It's been a long day and I have no desire to go to dinner. I have cold pizza here as you pointed out. Frankly, an evening out with Jack Harkness always ends up with my chasing a Weevil across a car park somewhere while you call into the Hub and let them know. I _still_ haven't gotten the grease out of one pair of trousers, and you end up smelling like a damned rose. I don't get dinner and yet I fall into bed with you, starving I might add, and that's the end of the 'date'. So if it's all the same," Ianto said, settling back into the chair and turning his back on Jack once more, "plug the set back in and I'll finish Bond. Go enjoy yourself without me. I'll skip the dinner part and be around here for the quick shag later."

All right, that wasn't the way this conversation was supposed to go. Jack's brow furrowed and he removed the greatcoat, tossing it over Ianto's desk, scattering pamphlets and brochures in every direction. The glare Jack received the moment the first guide book hit the floor was cold enough to freeze water on a hot summer day.

"I had just straightened," Ianto snapped, staring at the dark telly. "Now, as I've asked you _how_ many times already? If you'll kindly remove your coat, pick up your mess and go, I'd be much obliged. The film should be done by the time you finish dinner and you can toss me against the wall for a shag as, really, that's all I'm good for, isn't it?"

Jack's hand settled on Ianto's shoulder, turning the other man to look at him. Sighing, Ianto gave into the touch, lifting his head with the defiant tilt returning to his features once more. However, any softenss that had lurked there once before was gone and in its place was a coldness Jack hadn't seen in quite some time. Jack knew this look, the expression that clearly said 'I'm not giving in, no matter how you ask.' Lightly, Jack ran his fingertips along a clean-shaven cheek, smiling when Ianto leaned into that touch ever so slightly. So much for not giving in. As angry as he may be, there were certain things that Ianto was powerless against.

Jack Harkness was an unstoppable force of nature.

"Come out. Not even for dinner, a walk if you'd prefer -- just... would you come out with me?" He hesitated before adding the final word, a word rarely uttered. "...please."

The coldness in Ianto's eyes melted, giving way to concern. Once more, Ianto glanced between the telly and Jack, as if trying to determine Jack's motives. Either this was nothing more than another of Jack's clever ploys, or there was something genuine behind his actions. Jack watched him carefully, for once not trying to mask his emotions. It was the same look he had worn while waiting with bated breath for Ianto to accept that first date. Jack could pick the moment Ianto's resolve wavered and finally gave way to acquiescence.

With a final, forlorn look back at the silent television set, Ianto begrudgingly reached for his dress shoes, tugged the socks from within and slowly pulled them on. Jack retrieved his greatcoat from the desk, sending the last of the guidebooks scattering and earning an annoyed grunt from Ianto. Coat buttoned, Jack impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk, only causing Ianto to move slower.

"Any time now."

"Yes, anytime. Which is why you can wait for me," Ianto shot back, tying each shoe in turn, drawing the laces so they matched in length." I was set for a night in, not a night walking around Cardiff. For the record? No offices and no roofs."

After all the months of working with Torchwood and being covered with god knew what alien gunk on a semi-regular basis, Jack would have expected some of Ianto's compulsions to fade away. Apparently he was mistaken. The finger tapping morphed into the addition of a foot, Jack giving Ianto a look that clearly said 'hurry up before I drag you out of here half-dressed.'

The responding eyeroll said 'try it.'

Jack held his tongue and crossed his arms in front of his chest rather than hauling Ianto from the Tourist Office. Ianto Jones: the one man who held the leash on Jack Harkness. Oh what would the Doctor say to that? Jack quickly pushed that thought from his mind -- some things were better off not contemplated. Jack drew his lips into a thin line, crossing to the door and holding it open, letting the cold air do the job of forcing Ianto to move faster. He grabbed his overcoat, brushing past Jack without so much as a word. Jack growled under his breath and slammed the shop door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

"You break the glass and I'm not going to be the one to replace it, sir," Ianto said, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, removing them long enough to turn his collar up against the chill. The motion said he wanted nothing to do with Jack or touching him as they walked.

"I thought we were dropping the 'sir'," Jack said locking the door via wrist strap and quickly catching up to Ianto.

"Oh if your wishes only made things come true, _sir_."

"You're being a cheeky bastard today, you know that?"

Ianto didn't respond beyond a slight shrug, squaring his shoulders as they walked. It wasn't possible for Ianto's body language to be any clearer: he was only going on this walk because Jack had used the magic word 'please'. There was no emotion between them, no clue that the two men were any more than collegues heading to the pub after a long day at the office. It bothered Jack far more than it had any right to.

"Listen... Ianto," Jack said after they'd walked several blocks in silence. "About Michael --"

"Jack, _don't_." Ianto stopped suddenly, whirling to face Jack. He placed a finger against Jack's lips, snapping his head sharply from left to right. "You don't owe me any explanation for something that happened before I was born," he added after a pause. "I told you to go to him and you did." Ianto shivered against the wind, curling into his coat rather than leaning against Jack as he normally would have done. "Beyond that, you don't owe me anything. That's how we work. You don't owe me anything."

"For someone who says he's fine, you sure are repeating yourself quite a bit," Jack chided, though the smile on his face was bitter.

"What do you want me to say, Jack?" Ianto asked suddenly. "You don't talk about yourself. We've been fucking for months now and you don't talk about your past. I've accepted that. I know I'm not the first to be taken in by the great Captain Jack Harkness, and I know I'm far from your last -- hell, I know there are probably others even now. I don't like it, but I'm learning to accept it."

"Ianto..." Jack attempted to interrupt, reaching for Ianto's elbow.

Ianto took a step back, placing an invisible wall between them. Jack swallowed, watching the other man carefully, suddenly feeling as if his world was about to come crashing down on his head. It was disconcerting to finally find himself in such a precarious position, one bad bottle of tequila away from losing a lover. Jack was the one who did the dumping, _never_ had the reverse occurred.

"Don't, Jack," Ianto said once more. "I don't want or need excuses. This is the first I've seen one of your past lovers stare me so blatantly in the face. It's never been real to me until now. Don't protest and say 'no, it's not like that' because I saw the damn look in your eyes. I told you to go to him and you did because that's what you're supposed to do." Ianto drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose. "I now have to figure out where I fit into your life because things have changed, Jack, and we can never go back to how it was before."

"He's gone. He leaves. He goes back to 1967. He dies." Jack finally managed to get a word in, taking a step towards Ianto in an attempt to break down that invisible wall.

"But he dies in _your_ arms, Jack," Ianto said softly. "How am I supposed to compete with that?" He shook his head sadly, giving Jack a self-depreciating smile. "I can't, that's how. I can't compete with that and I know it. I don't know if I'm anything more than the flavour of the month to you and frankly, I don't want to hear that I'm not. Because I never know if you're placating me to get into my trousers or if you mean it. When you don't talk about your past or about yourself, a man has no hope of knowing where he stands with you."

"What do you want to know, Ianto?" Jack exploded, throwing his hands up in the air. "What is it that you want from me? You want to know about me? Want to know every past lover? Which ones were the flings and which ones killed me when they died? About my wife, maybe?"

The punch came out of nowhere.

It caught Jack along the jaw, hard enough to make him see stars and he barely managed to stay standing. Jack supposed he probably deserved that, no matter how much it hurt. He rubbed his jaw, pain blossoming out from the point of impact. Apparently Ianto'd been practising his aim.

"You're a bastard." Ianto cursed again, this time in Welsh, rubbing his knuckles. At least Jack wasn't the only one in pain and Jack took comfort in that fact. "That wasn't at _all_ what I meant and you fucking well know that."

Ianto's voice had taken on that gravelly tone, deepening and making his accent all the more pronounced. Normally that was a turn-on but not when Ianto's blue eyes were narrowed to thin slits. Jack knew he was lucky to get away with only a punch, damn those scrappy Welsh-types.

"Then tell me, Jones, what is it you want from me?" Jack hissed.

Once more Ianto moved forward and Jack instinctively raised a hand to fight off the oncoming blow. This time, instead of a fist connecting with his face Ianto's lips met Jack's in a bruising kiss. There was nothing tender about the kiss, just lips smashed together as Ianto fought against desire and anger. Pulling back after a long moment, Ianto's face was still twisted into a grimace.

"That wasn't much of an answer," Jack replied.

Without responding, Ianto turned on his heel and picked up his pace once more, as if wanting to put as much space between himself and Jack as possible. Torn between letting him go and staying where he was, Jack debated for a fraction of a second before moving to catch up. Several long strides and Jack retook his place at Ianto's side, forcibly yanking Ianto's hand from his pocket and lacing his own with it. Ianto glanced over at Jack, a hint of surprise edging his features.

"Jack, please."

Jack didn't release Ianto's hand even after the soft entreaty and Ianto never attempted to turn away either. They walked in silence for a time, Jack leading them to the docks because if they were going to have this conversation, it was going to be here -- back where it all began (or in this case, ended). Not a word was spoken as they wound through the streets of Cardiff, the sunset fading into darkness as the stars and streetlamps lit to light their way.

"Where are we...?"

Ianto's voice trailed off as they reached the edge of the pier, the apartment building standing out in stark relief in the night sky. More lights were on now, casting a glittering light over the glassy water as the two silent figures approached. Jack had avoided the docks as often as possible, coming here only when absolutely necessary, and now he found himself standing by the water's edge twice in the same day.

"Why did you bring me here?" Ianto asked, cocking his head to the side to look at Jack. "I told you I didn't want or need any more explanations from you. I," he pulled his hand from Jack's at last, "need to figure out if I can accept this. I asked you where this left us and you couldn't answer me. He may have left but I feel like he's still here." Ianto snorted softly, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around himself, curling further away from Jack. "How many more, Jack? Who else is hidden in the closet? What other lovers have you died with? That have left a stain on you?" Shivering, Ianto looked out over the black water, gazing at the lights reflected within its depths. "I can't keep going on like this. Waiting for the next one to pop up unexpectedly and watching you tear yourself apart when you think no one is looking. You left us all when the Doctor showed up. And now Michael." At last, Ianto brought his gaze towards Jack's, his expression raw. "When does the next one come and when do you finally leave me?"

Jack opened his mouth to speak and once more, Ianto placed a finger against his lips, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No, Jack. Don't make promises you can't keep. You don't like talking about yourself or anything that deals with emotions or what's going on in that head of yours for that matter. I respect that even if it frustrates me to no end. Don't cheapen what little I have left to hold onto you by telling me what I want to hear."

There wasn't much Jack could say, no matter how he wished he could find the perfect series of words to fix things. Instead, Jack did the only thing he knew how to do: speak through actions. He stepped towards Ianto, snaking his arm around the other man's shoulders, relieved to feel Ianto's weight shift, leaning completely against him. Jack stepped to the side, fitting his body behind Ianto's and wrapping both arms around his lover, chin resting on his shoulder as they both stared out at the water. The wind picked up, whipping their coats around their legs while the water became choppier. Jack's eyes focused on the spot where he and Michael had fallen, clinging to each other, taking in that last breath not of air, but water.

"Did you love him?"

The question hit Jack like a second punch to the jaw. The words had been whispered softly and, if not for their closeness, would have been carried away on the wind. When no further conversation came, Jack wondered if the question had been intended for him in the first place.

"Well...?"

Or not.

Jack tightened his grip on Ianto, attempting to understand a relationship he had tried so desperately to forget. He thought of those few short days he had spent with Michael. He had felt _something_ for the other man but was loath to call it love. Hell, even what was developing between himself and Ianto had been filed away, as Jack refused to call what they shared a 'relationship', let alone 'love'. True, Jack loved and he loved often-- but there was a vast difference between 'loving' and 'being in love'. It was admitting the latter that scared him half to death, an impressive feat for the man who couldn't die.

Ianto's hands covered Jack's and, after a pause, lifted Jack's arms away and unwound himself from Jack's embrace. This was twice now that Ianto had turned away from Jack and he hated how it made his stomach flop. No one pulled away from the great Captain Jack, not on purpose and not repeatedly.

"Perhaps a part of me did," Jack said at long last, flicking his glance out over the choppy water once more. "But that's not what you wanted to know, is it?" The question was rhetorical and they both knew it. Jack took a moment, carefully considering his words before he continued. "Did I feel for him what I feel for you?" Another deep breath. "No."

It was the closest Jack would ever get to a true confession of his feelings. He was scared to look at Ianto, afraid to see what expression lurked in those crystal blue eyes. He wasn't placating, wasn't humouring him, but after everything that had been said tonight, the words somehow felt cheap. The silence dragged on between them and with each passing second, Jack could feel his own hope beginning to wane. His eyes closed as Jack began to think of an exit strategy, one that would get him out of this situation with the smallest amount of ego bruising.

After a long pause, Jack could feel Ianto's hands on his cheeks, moving his head to where Ianto wanted him looking: not at the water but at him. The hands remained as Ianto stepped in, brushing his lips lightly against Jack's. For the first time all night, there was heat in that simple kiss, a sign that things were on the slow road to recovery. Jack gave in, letting Ianto steer the direction of the kiss. He sighed the moment he felt Ianto's tongue against his lips, siliently demanding entry. Lips parted and Jack surrendered completely.

"Are we okay?"

The question was asked when the kiss ended, both men needing air over closeness. The words were whispered against Ianto's lips, Jack attempting to prove that there wouldn't be assumptions between them any longer. For the third time that night, Ianto physically silenced Jack, though this time it was (at last) with his lips and not with his finger.

"No," Ianto replied with a slight shake of his head. A faint smile graced his lips as Ianto raised a hand to run through Jack's hair. "But all signs point to a full and speedy recovery."

Ianto's hand tightened, pulling Jack down for another kiss. Their mouths had barely touched when Jack withdrew, words spilling forth before he could stop them. Then again, it was something that needed to be said.

"I would, you know," Jack said suddenly, hands moving to cup Ianto's face.

"You would... what?" Ianto asked, confusion colouring his features.

"Go to my death with you," Jack all but whispered, his gaze boring into Ianto's.

The moment of truth had come and the only response Jack received was silence. Ianto turned them both away from the water and began leading the way back to the Hub, Jack following a step behind. Staring straight ahead, Jack schooled his features, keeping his expression neutral to hide the hurt and despair that was twisting in his stomach like a knife. Here he had, at last, admitted something so private and Ianto couldn't even respond. Well, it wasn't like Jack was very good at talking through his emotions -- hell, it had taken six months of sex before Jack had come close to admitting he cared for Ianto. Jack's responses tended to be physical, subscribing to the philosophy that actions spoke louder than words. Jack received no acknowledgement, physical or otherwise, from Ianto and it frustrated him to no end.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Quickening his pace, Jack reached Ianto's side after walking several blocks, slipping his hand into Ianto's. Taking the small victory when Ianto didn't pull away, Jack fell into step beside Ianto as they walked through the winding streets of Cardiff. They turned down a side street and Jack became aware that the Hub wasn't their final destination. Blindly, Jack followed Ianto through the twisting streets of Cardiff, becoming more and more lost by the second. A hundred years in a town and one would think Jack would know every alley in the city. But if Jack hadn't learned Welsh in that time, it was safe to reason he'd be lost without the GPS in the SUV or Ianto's local knowledge. It was only as they approached the housing complex that Jack recognised the brownstone Ianto called home when he wasn't bunking at the Hub. Jack glanced quizzically at Ianto, silently asking to be let in on the secret. If there was anything Jack hated it was being left in the dark.

Withdrawing a set of keys from his trouser pocket, Ianto unwound a silver key from the key ring and pressed it into Jack's hand, curling his fingers around the tiny piece of metal. The significance of the key wasn't lost on Jack. Opening his hand, Jack stared at the key as it glinted under the street lamps, sparkling like a diamond in the night.

"I thought you said we were a 'work in progress'," Jack said, unable to tear his gaze away from the key.

"We are," Ianto replied. "But I want to be more than just a shag to you. And it starts here. I just need time."

"How's fifteen minutes sound."

"A bit more than that," Ianto replied dryly.

"Seventeen?" Jack asked helpfully, slipping the key into the lock.

For the first time all night, a genuine smile lit up Ianto's face as he slid an arm around Jack's waist, leaning against the other man. Ianto's free hand reached for the knob, opening the door for them both.

"I'll get the stopwatch."

* "Go to hell"


End file.
